Total
by Lastavica
Summary: They love each other. It's that simple. - A series of one shots of the quiet, simple, often angsty moments of Clint and Nat's life after giving up SHIELD/The Avengers. (The first one can definitely be read independently of the others if you prefer.) Chronology is continuously clarified. (trigger warning for chapter 14)
1. Total

"So are we gonna do this?" He asked. His knotted, calloused fingers drummed into the palm of his right hand.

"I dont know."

He would not press her if he knew that she didn't want him to. But her tone told him to convince her.

"Why not?" Clint looked over at her. She looked away.

"Our lives-"

"Haven't changed, aren't gonna change."

She didn't respond so Clint knew he still had the floor. She would hear him out.

"Let's do it. Let's just do it." He said emphatically. "Let's get married. Let's have kids. They won't be abandoned if something happens to us. There's like a surplus of people to back us up now, Nat."

"But what if you go out first and _I'm_ left with those kids, Clint?" Her eye contact demanded a considered response.

He paused and looked hard in her eyes. "Tasha, I'm afraid of that too. But we'll let that fear stop us from living as fully as we can right now? It should be the opposite. We should charge into all of it. Even if kids lose their parents, we've got family now and they'll be ok. But we'll fight harder than we ever have to not lose each other, to not let them lose us."

She looked down at toward the city.

"Tasha." He said softly and took her hand. He spoke to her as her fierce gaze took in the world below. "I don't want to die some day, or tomorrow, and know that we lived it all for the job." Clint lifted her hand and kissed it softly. "I want to be all yours." He said. "I want you to be all mine. ...Please, Nat."

This made her turn to him, her green eyes gently burning.

"The job isn't our life. _We_ can have a life. Let the job pummel it and try to take it away, but I don't want to be flat on my back in some shit hole some day and know that you and me were never really you and me."

She sensed the strength of this conviction. He gripped her hand as he spoke these last words.

"Do you?"

Nastasha looked back out toward the city. A light breeze pushed a red lock of hair across her forehead. Clint's stormy eyes desperately searched her face, but he waited. It was her choice.

"Clint" she finally spoke. "You know I don't want that."

He relaxed a bit. She was saying yes.

"I trust you" She said. "With my life."

"Will you give it to me? Because mine is yours."

She could not hold back a laugh. It was a truly happy laugh. She was not scorning his words. Natasha shook her head and smiled. His hand that was wrapped around hers, she took and pressed against her heart.

"Yes, Barton. Of course I will. Forever."

It was Clint's turn to laugh. A deeply felt, happy, laugh. He pulled his hand away and wrapped Natasha in his arms. Clint breathed into her hair. "I'm so happy."

Natasha could hear the tears in his voice. The shocking thing was that is wasn't a surprise. She knew how much he loved her because she loved him the same.

* * *

_**...**_

_**I have just made myself super happy.**_

_**What did you think?**_


	2. Waiting

_**Thought I'd try something different. **_

_**I hope you don't hate it. **_

**: D**

* * *

Clint's hand rests on my stomach.

He loves to wait for the feel of a small impact on his palm and finger tips.

So soon. Any day now the baby will come. Any day now we'll know our hidden child.

Lots of people walk, watch tv, do something when they just want to be together, but Clint and I just like to sit. There's enough in every other moment. Tonight it's the porch. This property in the woods is our home. Although we enjoyed living at Stark Tower, it's in both our natures to have some distance, and soon we'll be three. I won't let that happen in the city. Besides, with this new little life inside me, I feel a deep desire to put all the "avenging" behind me. I just want to _live_. It would be the first time in my life. That's all I want to do. And I want to do that with Clint, as a family.

Clint bought this place shortly after he realized he loved me. I had no idea at the time... about either development in his life. His savings was very large, having spent next to nothing since he began at SHIELD. He was lonely when he started with them. Working for SHIELD was all he had. When the thought breached his man brain, that he might someday settle and desire to protect what he loves, he bought this land and did nothing with it for a long time. (The time it took for me to love him back, admit it to myself, admit it to him, and then actually let him marry me. So it was a good long time) The house wasn't here then. After Clint and I married, Stark had it built for us. I felt I had no choice but to constantly keep tabs on Tony to prevent it from turning into some kind of gaudy palace. My style and Clint's can only be described as the opposite of Tony Stark's. It's a beautiful dark wooden home. Big, but not huge with a wrap around porch. Flower boxes, shutters. I love it. It's everything my life never got to be; warm. Now Clint and I will have it together. Our own lives are over. This is a new one. Just one, and it's ours.

So, we're silent and the only sounds are the gentle breeze in the forest, and the night singing of crickets. Clint calls them his friends and he does it only because I think it's stupid.

I can see his eyes smiling, though his face doesn't shift at all. The baby is kicking his hand again. I won't pretend that the heart I never thought I had tightens when his eyes smile. I really love him.

"I don't care what it is." He says softly, as if only to himself.

"I know." I say. In my heart a daughter feels like the best thing imaginable, but I know I'll be in love either way. Clint knows that.

I move both my hands to cover his. This is perfect.

"I still can't believe it." He's smiling outright now.

Neither can I, and it still scares the hell out of me. I still feel like I'm all blackness inside and the fact that life could grow there is something that still surprises me. Clint knows I feel that way. He hates it so much. I made the mistake in one of my darker moments of voicing that belief. But I had promised him he'd always know me, so I told him. That moment was the first time he'd seen my cry since I've known him. There have been many times he's seen me die inside, but never cry.

It was his fault anyway. He called _me_ the light in his life, and he meant it.

...I blame the hormones.

* * *

_**Perhaps you can hear my insides squealing?**_

_**I enjoyed writing that! Thanks for reading! I was trying to achieve two things: FEELS and (happy) Natasha's voice. What did you think?**_

**_...Does happiness automatically render marvel characters OoC? _ *wink* :P**


	3. Wind

_**Another one from Natasha's POV. Curious to know how it comes across to you. This one I also super enjoyed writing!**_

* * *

We wanted our child to be free in a way neither of us ever knew. We wanted it for them as deep as their very identity. So we named him accordingly. Yes, it turned out we had a boy and, as expected, I'm in love.

His name is Wind. At first I laughed when Clint suggested it. The name itself sounded beautiful and strong, but it just seemed silly. I honestly thought he was joking. He'd expected that response and was ready with an explanation. It was one of those moments where he revealed himself in a new and passionate way. I love his soul. It's so different from my own.

"I'm serious." He'd said with an emphasis that always makes me forget that life has ever tore his innocence away.

"Everything we never had. Right in her name... or his. It's free. You can't hold it. You can't hurt it. It's strong and it's gentle. It fierce and it's peaceful." Then he suddenly became embarrassed by his words, which was somewhat of a shock.

"Barton, you're a romantic." I heard my usual dry self say, but inside I felt a swell. It was perfect.

"Ah, you love it." He said, picking up his confidence right where he'd left it. Clint is well acquainted with my hidden responses.

I nodded. He'd completely sold me on the name. A whole life behind him entrenched in pain and darkness, and his mind still works like that. It's this attribute of Clint's that made him spare my life so many years ago. And now look where we are. I think I'll stick with him._  
_

"Middle name?" He asked me a moment later.

I remember thinking for a few minutes and then saying "No middle name."

He cocked his head in question.

"Keep the wind unconfined." I said.

A smile broke out on his face. "I like it."

I was the first to say it out loud. "Wind Barton."

Clint followed suit. "Wind." Then he nodded his head in further approval. "So badass."

I laughed. I couldn't help it.

Since his arrival, Wind has gone through the evolution of nicknames, or rather the devolution. Wind quickly became Windy. And soon after, Windy was simply "D". Clint started saying it, then I did, and then it stuck. Outside of russian terms of endearment, I mostly call him Wind or D, but in between those is a constant stream of random derivatives that come out of Clint's weird mind. "Smoke Stack" being the first and most nonsensical of all. Then there's Windiggity, Whirlwind, Wind Surf, or just Surf. He's called our son "Breezey Baby Boy". I thank God that only happened once. Of course there is D-Bart, Baby Barton, D-D McGee (?), and the list goes on.

Yeah. Clint's crazy.


	4. Trees

"D-Dog, look at this."

The baby's soft hands brushed against the rough tree bark, his fingers opening and closing. They were still not so capable of directing and grabbing. Clint took the tiny hand under his palm, gently pressing it to the tree. His fingers splayed out with the baby's hand underneath.

"Feel that?" Clint asked, his nose touched Wind's chubby cheek as he spoke. His other arm wrapped around the son's chest and under his arms. "That's a tree." He said.

Clint looked up for a moment, squinting as he examined the impressive trunk. "Yeah." He then said. "I'll show you how to climb this sucker."

Wind simply opened his mouth and tested his own voice some more. This was his newest trick. It sounded like gentle singing and Clint thought it was the greatest sound he'd ever heard.

Clint turned to look back toward the house. There she was. Natasha sat crossed legged in a large chair up on the porch. The gentle breeze pushed the hair around her forehead as her focus remained on the pages of the book in her lap. Clint smiled and returned his attention to the baby.

* * *

As soon as Clint looked away, Natasha lifted her head again. If he knew she was watching him, he would act accordingly. She just wanted to observe him in his natural state.

He was over by the tree line, his bare feet tramping through the grass and twigs, carrying the baby here and there. From where she sat, and because of the light breeze in the trees, Natasha could only hear the tones of Clint's voice, but could not make out his words. He kept talking. Natasha was grateful for Clint's verbosity because she had less need for words. Their son received two halves and got a whole.

She watched from afar as Clint bent forward toward the ground, holding the baby over the grass and letting Wind's hands and feet swing back and forth in the swaying green blades. All the while Clint's lips brushed across the irresistible dome of reddish fuzz atop Wind's round little head. The distinct sound of baby laughter reached Natasha's ears and she smiled to herself. Her son's laugh was the greatest sound she had ever heard.

Clint stood up and, as she was still reveling in that sweet sound, looked toward her again. Their eyes met. The corners of her mouth quirked up into another of her usual small smiles. While his eyes smiled at her the way she loved so much, he held the baby up beside his face. The baby had a look of total indifference, if not mild concern. His pudgy cheek squished against Clint's stubble and his grayish blue eyes squinted because of the sun which made him sneeze. The sight of the two of them caused Natasha to laugh. She couldn't believe those two belonged to her.

* * *

**_Inspiration for this one came from a song called "A Father's First Spring" by The Avett Brothers. Not really the lyrics, just the idea of nature's rhythms evoking memory and emotion and all the fatherhood feels... I wanted to paint a picture. ...What did you think?_**


	5. Free

"D, you're ok." Natasha said. Wind was sprawled out in the grass where he'd fallen. Chasing chickens proved difficult for the toddler. His face seemed torn between crying and determination. Natasha was keeping an eye on the exploring child as she sat on the front steps. She was simply enjoying the sky, the trees, birds, her son. Taking in the abundance of life and the peace all around her had become her greatest pleasure. Clint was inside the house preparing dinner.

"Get up, little one. You're ok." She assured him again in her steady tone. Her eyes were soft like they always were for the ones she loved. Both of them. The little boy pushed his hands into the grass and got to his feet. His bottom was in the air first, then he pushed the rest of himself into standing position. Looking to his mother for validation, he earned a smile from her. "Well done." She said. Wind clapped his hands and said something indecipherable. (He was proving talkative like his dad. Although, they couldn't understand anything he was saying yet.) He looked again towards the chickens who, with their pursuer waylaid, had stopped to peck in the grass. Forgetting his defeat from a moment earlier, he gave a laugh and unsteadily ran after them again. Disapproving clucks sounded as they reluctantly retreated once again.

Not long after Wind was born Natasha had decided she was done.

She wanted no more violence, no more death. Never again did she want to choose to destroy anything. When Wind rested in her arms for the first time, and those greyish blue eyes searched aimlessly for the sound of her low and gentle voice, she'd made up her mind. Any desire for the life she'd known immediately drowned in the ocean of love that surged for her child. She would bring up this baby, _build_ up his life, hers and Clint's. She wanted to be done with The Avengers, with SHIELD.

Natasha had herself erased from all SHIELD databases, files, reports, everything. Fury was reluctant at first. She put Tony on the case to make sure Fury followed through on her request. The director hadn't really believed that she could give it all up. He was convinced she'd be back. It took her showing up at SHIELD. It took seeing the look in her eyes for himself. The ferocity with which she remained loyal to her life with SHIELD, with the Avengers, had been permanently redirected, renewed and deepened with love toward her _family_. Clint and Natasha surviving in the midst of madness of was over. They were a family now and survival was over. It was time to live.

Clint remained on SHIELD file. He would consider training for them and would continue from time to time to, as he put it, "cowboy around" with the Avengers. Nothing serious, though. Other than that, he followed Natasha where she led their family. He wanted what she wanted. And Natasha meant when she'd said. No more baggage. No more killing. No more SHIELD. The Black Widow was gone. _Natasha_ wanted to live.

"You're sure?" Clint had asked her, looking down at the baby asleep against his chest.

"I have never felt so certain of anything." She too was gazing at their son as she spoke. They were sitting across from one another at the kitchen table in the quiet of the night. There were so many things he could have reminded her of, could've questioned, but he knew Natasha and he knew her voice. She meant what she was saying. Meant it deeper and truer than anything she had ever said to him.

With the birth of hers son, she no longer wanted action. She wasn't sure she had ever _wanted_ it. It had had just always been something necessary in her life. It was what she did. As her heart burst forth she realized the life she'd led up until then wasn't what she had necessarily wanted. Now that it was possible, she wanted to nurture and grow things. She began a vegetable garden, a bee hive and kept chickens. A whole new aspect of self sufficiency, grounded in building up and not in tearing down. Natasha wanted life. She wanted it teeming around her, from her, and for her. That is what she got. Natasha never knew this desire was inside her until her body became a home for the result of her and Clint's love. Then that life was placed in her arms and _everything_ changed. Life. That's what she had to give. She was so happy. Happy, and truly unafraid of herself for the first time ever. It wasn't darkness that could come from her, but love.

For so long Clint had tried to show Natasha the light he could see in her. He'd tried to show her what she meant to him, what she did for him. The darkness he carried, she lit up. He'd always known she wasn't just darkness as she'd believed. The night the baby was born and lay asleep in a bassinet, the two of them sat in bed totally silent. That was until Clint began quietly weeping. He pulled her into his arms and just cried. Natasha could hear the joy, and the pain dispelling. He was so happy, for himself and for her. Clint knew that with their Wind's birth Natasha could see that something good could come from her. It was now real and undeniable.

Natasha chose this life and loved it. No longer would she be tied to a life that was assigned to her as so young an age.

"He's never gonna catch those chickens." Clint's voice came from behind her.

"No." She said. "But the joy is in running after them."

Clint nodded although she couldn't see him behind her.

"Wind." Clint called. The baby stumbled as he tried to stop and then turned to his father's voice.

"Deedee!" He exclaimed.

"Hi!" Clint beamed. "Come have dinner with me and mommy."

Wind shook his head vigorously and turned back to the chickens.

"Uh oh." Clint deadpanned. Then he leapt from the porch into the grass. "Now I have to get you!" Wind turned instantly at his father's exclamation. He squealed, forgetting all about the chickens, and made an unsteady b-line for the woods. Clint caught him in seconds, lifting him up to his face. Wind's shirt flew up and Clint blew the loudest zerberts into his sons round belly. Wind shrieked with laughter until Natasha had to remind her husband to let the child breathe.

"Right." Clint said, unrolling his son from his arms and putting him down in the grass. Wind immediately ran to Natasha, laughing all the way, not entirely sure that Clint wasn't still following.

Natasha lifted him into her arms and stood up. "Double teamed." She said to Clint with a smirk. "...He'll catch on."

"I'm sure he will." Clint said as he followed them up the steps and into the house.

* * *

**_Your thoughts? Oh please tell me! :D_**

**_...Chapter 6 in progress._**


	6. Alive

_(__Totally want to thank Ani-maniac494 for planting the seed in my brain for this type of scene. She's awesome and you should totally check out her fics! THEY ARE GREAT! __Right after she suggested I write about about Clint/Nat parental uncertainty, I immediately banged out 80% of this. Here is the finished product.)_

**_Thank you so much to everybody who has been following, favoriting and reviewing this! I am so grateful!_**

**_This one is a slight jump back in time. Wind is an infant._**

* * *

The first time she couldn't soothe him was the first time she doubted again.

The baby was _finally_ sleeping and Clint quietly pushed the screen door open. Natasha sat at the top of the porch steps, her back to the door. Her red hair gleaming in the soft moonlight. Clint stood behind her for a moment, just breathing in the cool night air. It was 3am.

"It happens." He said softly, still looking out into the darkness. "Babies cry and you can't make it better."

"What am I doing?" She asked suddenly. "I'm kidding myself thinking I can ever be a mom, ever take care of a child, when I've never been one myself and never done anything but destroy!"

"Am I kidding myself for being with you?" He said without even thinking.

"What?"

Clint came and sat one step down from her, turning to face her. "Love." He said. "Love, Natasha. Lonely all my life! Joking it off. Barton doesn't care. But I did f**king care, Nat! And then you came along. No, I didn't want to marry you back then, but it didn't take me long to care about you. And y_ou_ loved me like my brother never could."

He shook his head, trying to straighten his thoughts.

"Despite everything about you! Despite all the sh*t they put your through, you let yourself trust me. _You_ let us have _this_!" He vigorously gestured from her to him and back again. "Natasha, I got beaten. I was a runaway. I was left in the dust by the only person who ever cared about me. Yet, here I am! And you can say the same. You can say worse!"

Clint blew out a sigh. Natasha's eyes were intently focused on him. Every word she was taking in.

"I'm tryin' to say that it's bullsh*t." He raked his fingers through his short hair. "Who cares if you didn't have a childhood. Who cares if mine was sh*t! We don't need a blue print for him!" Clint said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder, indicating to Wind who was asleep in the house. "You know what the worst is. You know better than anyone. So you fight harder than anyone for the opposite, Nat. You've got this. ...If anybody's f**ked up here it's me. The people who hurt you never loved you. Not in my case." He suddenly became quieter. She could see his fists flexing. "Our 'dad' who took us in... yeah. 'Loved us'. Beat the shit out of us. And Barney... I'll always watch out for my little brother. I love you, man."

The venom in that last sentence was palpable, but Natasha didn't touch him. She let his thoughts flow freely. Clint looked down and closed his eyes. "F**k!" Thoughts of Barney still stabbed him.

He looked back up at Natasha. "Don't you see? ...You never had love, but I got taught it was something it isn't." Suddenly there were tears tracing down his cheeks. Natasha moved her hand to his face.

"Clint." She finally spoke. "You're not f**ked up. You fought against what they showed you. Clint, _you didn't_ kill me. ...Look at me."

Slowly his eyes lifted to meet hers. "You let me live. Why? ...If you thought love is betrayal and violence, then what was that? Hate?"

He was silent.

"You saw _me_, Clint. And I saw you."

She was right. He let those words echo in his mind. Their first encounter defied everything they knew. He saw goodness where he was told was only darkness. She stayed when she had every reason to run. Yet, somehow, and for some reason, each of them cut through their own common sense and reached out to the other.

"Wind we'll see us the way we see each other. Not how we see ourselves." Clint's eyes were suddenly smiling. Barely, but she could see it.

Nastasha nodded. "Like you said, we know the worst, but he won't."

Clint leaned down and rested his head atop her knees, taking in the comfort of her presence. Her fingers wove into his short brown hair. He breathed deeply. With her, he remained safe from the lies.

"Thank you." Natasha said.

"Don't thank me." He said, not moving from where he rested against her. "You already knew."

* * *

**_ Was this conversation coherent to you? I could have made their points clearer, but it felt more natural this way. What did you think? It was just kind of an intuitive explosion and I enjoyed the heck out of writing it. :D_**


	7. Reality

_Wind is still a baby in this one._

* * *

Natasha's eyes opened to a sound. Then she felt the sheets taut and pulling away from her. It was Clint. Quickly she sat up to find him laying on his back with the sheets balled tightly in his fists. Sweat beaded on his brow as he visibly struggled with a nightmare. She moved immediately to take away the look on his face.

"Clint." Natasha said gently. She placed her hand on his cheek. "Wake up."

His eyes snapped open and his hand shot to her wrist, wrapping tightly around it. She didn't pull away, but let him find her. As soon as his terrified eyes reached hers, his grip relaxes and he let go. Clint looked spent as he hauled himself into sitting position, trying to breathe through bit lips. His eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head, trying to expel the images.

"It's over." She told him. "It's over."

Unexpectedly he cried out as if in pain.

"No, it isn't!" He hung his head, holding it with his hands. His fingers wove into his short brown hair. Clint tried to take deep breaths but all of the sudden they were choked up with sobs. No tears came, just ugly, painful sobs.

Natasha was a bit surprised, not having seen Clint this upset in years.

"Barton, talk to me." She said gently, pulling him into her arms. He accepted her embrace, wrapping his own arms around her.

"He came back, Tasha."

Natasha knew who _he_ was and it made her angry. She thought that was over for Clint.

"It was Wind! Loki made me- " Clint couldn't finish that sentence. He couldn't say it. Instead she felt his weight drop back toward the bed, completely destroyed by the image in his mind. Natasha held onto him and moved to lay back down. She kept him wrapped in her arms as he hid his face just under her chin, his hands and arms curled up to his chest. Hiding against her, that's when the tears came.

Perhaps Clint would feel stupid tomorrow. Maybe he would feel weak and say that he wasn't strong enough to stand up against a dream that hadn't even been real. But Natasha knew the truth and she wouldn't keep it to herself. He was more than strong. Clint was a man in love and fiercely held his family against his heart. The pain he felt and the pain that caused tears to spring from his eyes came from his efforts to hold them closer still when threatened. Even if the threat were only a mirage. There was no need for him to prove his strength. She'd learned long ago, after all her dark times and confusion that came with giving up her old life and joining SHIELD, just what kind of strength Clint possessed. What it took to bring her in. That's all she ever needed to know.

On the other hand he might relapse. "I _am _still the monster Loki made me." He might say. "It never went away. It's still down there somewhere inside me. My dream proves it." In her mind, the answer for that was easier. Clint tears proved his horror. His horror proved his humanity.

Or perhaps he wouldn't say anything and the pain would just linger. Easier still, she would hold his hand through the pain until it passed.

* * *

The next day came and along with it the sun, the sky, and the memory of his dream.

Clint was a brightness in their home. He laughed a lot, talked a lot and could never leave Wind alone. But this morning Clint was up and out while it was still dark. She heard him leave, but didn't bother him. After last night, she knew he needed some space.

He went walking in the woods, taking the dogs with him. Natasha was making coffee in the kitchen when out the window she saw him emerge from the tree line. Arrow (Yes, Clint was very proud the the dog's shameless name), the big Irish wolf hound loped across the grass ahead of him. At Clint's side, nose to the ground so that his droopy skin and flappy ears fell over his face, trotted their young blood hound who Clint called Mars. Natasha enjoyed the dogs, but not as much as Clint and Wind did. It was Clint's idea to get them and Natasha was happy to leave naming them up to him. She also did not allow them inside the house, a decision Clint accepted.

Up he strode to the house in black cargos and a black jacket. Over his shoulder was slung his oldest bow. It was simply an old friend and he liked to keep it close. He looked like the agent he no longer was.

Arriving at the house Clint, placed his bow on the railing and sat down on the porch steps. Mars plopped down at his feet, snorting rhythmically. Arrow sat at his knee ready to receive a nice head scratching.

Natasha quietly pushed open the screen door. Her bare feet stepped silently across the wooden floor. Wind was still sleeping.

She came down the steps and sat beside her husband. She wore a grey sweater, black pants. The morning chill held no sway over her small russian feet. Delicate they may have looked. Delicate they were not. As she handed Clint a cup of coffee, Mars' sad eyes lifted to greet her and his tail swished happily back and forth in grass. He did not, however, bother to get up.

"Hi dog." She said evenly and leaned down to give him a single pat on his wrinkled head. Natasha did not like Mars half as much as he liked her.

For a moment she and Clnt sipped their coffees together in silence, listening to the morning birds. The woodpeckers were especially active this morning. That was a favorite sound of Natasha's.

Clint's left hand continued stroking Arrow's scraggily head as he held his mug in his right.

"I killed Wind." He voiced quietly, not looking at her. She detected a tightening in his jaw as he said this.

"In your dream." She clarified.

"It was so real." He said, eyes in his mug.

"It wasn't."

He looked out at the trees for a moment and then sighed. "I know."

They sat for some time, not saying anything else. He knew the answers she would give to his fears and he knew she was right. There was nothing but the comfort in her silence and the truth. It had been a dream. His decisions were still his to make.

Natasha's mug was nearing empty when she gently knocked her knee against his.

"Hear that?" She asked.

Clind listened, then nodded. He could hear the faint sound of Wind crying up in his crib, demanding immediate removal.

Natasha was about rise from her seat, but Clint stopped her.

"I'll get him."

She nodded and relaxed again. Clint stood and placed his mug on the porch beside her. Before he could step away Natasha took his hand in hers, making him look down at her. Their eyes met. She didn't have to say anything. The confidence and trust in her gaze was all Clint needed to know. For an instant his grip tightened around hers, then he let go and went inside the house.

Once she was alone, Natasha looked down. Her eyes happened to fall on Mars' which seem to have been waiting for her eye contact. He gave a single happy swish of the tail. Natasha rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling anyway.

* * *

Clint arrived some minutes later with Wind in one arm. "He's changed and ready for mama." Clint said as he pushed the screen door open with his free hand. His voice held no indication of what had only minutes ago been on his mind. Wind was with him. How could he be sad?

Wind was still crying, a little angrier now that his dad made him wait through a diaper change. Then he had the nerve to force him into a sweater before taking him outside to his mother.

Wind's downey red hair stood on end. This combined with the footed pajamas he was wearing only served to render his rage very amusing.

"Good morning, little one." Natasha said as Clint passed him down to her. He also handed her the blanket that was draped over his shoulder. Wind calmed slightly, but continued to openly express his frustration to his mom. Natasha kissed his chubby cheeks and he in turn nuzzled against her, still shaking off sleepiness.

Clint picked up his mug and his wife's and returned inside for more coffee.

When he came back Wind was happily and quietly situated under the blanket. Natasha had the most content expression. Clint sat back down beside her, smiling faintly. She was so beautiful like that.

Her left arm cradled Wind against her, but her right hand found Clint's left where it now held the edge of the wooden step. Their fingers entwined. He scooted closer to her, as close as possible. After a few moments his head dipped to lean against her shoulder and neck. Turning her face to him, Natasha kissed his head, then returned her eyes to the sky and the trees. Softly, Clint's fingers tapped into her palm.

* * *

_**I hold that after events in The Avengers, Clint really struggled with nightmares of his "good work" (ie: Loki's plan to have him brutally murder Natasha). I wrote a lot about that struggle in my story "I'd Sleep Better I Suppose".**_


	8. Water

**_Hey friends! _**

**_Great thanks to all of you for your reviews and feedback! I'm so happy when I get to read your thoughts! And thank you for following and favoriting too! :D I'm so happy you're enjoying these little moments._**

**_Sorry for any confusion caused by my jumping around the time line. I'm writing these little glimpses as they come to me. I'll be sure to specify a definite age for Wind from now on just to be clear where the family is at in a given one shot._**

**_Just for retrospective clarification:_**

**_Chapter 4 Wind was 3-4 months old._**

**_Chapter 5 he was _****_1 year or so._**

**_Chapter 6 he was_****_ a new born._**

**_ Chapter 7 he was _****_5-6 months old. Also in this one..._**

**_Thank you for your patience._**

**_ :D_**

* * *

The sun is sinking in the trees, lighting the trunks and leaves a golden color. Its light filters into the kitchen, giving a warm amber hue to everything it touches.

Wind sits in the kitchen sink. His arms flailing happily at the water, splashing it all over his parents. Clint takes it mostly to the face as he's leaned over the counter to the right of his wife, propped up on his elbows. He watches as Nat stands, sleeves rolled up, pouring water from her cupped hands over their baby's smooth skin. She gently rubs soap on him as he ignores her and tries to play with the water despite his mother's interference. His contentment in the bath is deceptive. Five minutes earlier Natasha lathered baby shampoo into his soft hair while Clint used his hand to block soap from getting in Wind's eyes. Then Clint used his other hand to support Wind's neck and back, while leaning the top of his head under the faucet so Natashe could rinse away the shampoo. Through this entire sequence, Wind screamed fiercely. Natasha and Clint had learned quickly to begin with the worst part and then, dry his face and let him splash around for a while and forget his rage. It would then be far easier to dry him, diaper him and get him into PJs. The times they had saved hair washing for the end of bath time were far less pleasant evenings.

"You're so chubby." Clint says to him as if this is a new realization. He then addresses Natasha. "Were you a fat baby?"

"I don't know, Clint." She says patiently, her eyes remaining focused on what she's doing. He knows perfectly well that she couldn't know that. "Were you?" She asks.

"Probably. I was told I had some serious chipmunk cheeks."

Natasha smiles and doesn't ask him who it was that told him this.

Wind lets out another happy sound. He accidently slaps the water a bit too hard and it hits him in the eyes. For a moment he seems to be ok with it, then it dawns on him that his eyes are irritated. Clint almost laughs as Wind's face markedly dissolves into sadness.

"You're ok, buddy." He says, quickly pressing the nearest towel to his son's eyes.

"See? All better!" Clint says. Wind squints at him, testing out his eyes. Everything seems to be in order so he laughs back at his dad. "Good boy!" Clint laughs too.

A second later, Natasha pulls the drain plug from its place and turns the tap on very low. Again, using her hand to cup the clean water, she lightly pours it over her son, rinsing away the soap. As she does this, her husband, unhelpfully, molds Wind's wet hair into one large point. All the while he chuckles to himself.

"Ok." Natasha says, taking a blue towel that was folded on the counter beside her. She passes it over to Clint, who wraps the baby in it, and lifts him into his arms.

"Clean baby!" Clint says in a goofy, deep voice, bowing his head to rub his hair under Wind's chin. Wind laughs heartily and tries to grab at his dad's short hair, but Clint is too fast for him. He turns to Natasha with his wet little bundle in a fluffy blue towel. Half of his grey t-shirt is now a darker shade thanks to all the water.

"Look at this guy!" He says, smiling.

"I see him." She states plainly, but the amusement and affection is clear in her voice.


	9. Doubt

_**Wind is 7-8 months in this one.**_

* * *

Nat

Murder tools. Take apart, tear through, leave behind. Dirty. Blood covered. Lying touches, misleading gestures, darkness. Closed. Not open.

That's what I see.

My palms and fingers open to the dusk. I see all I need to see. The things they did. What they were made to do.

The chickens cluck comfortably around me here in the grass. I'm no threat to them as far as they are concerned. I feed them. Some times I hold them, and sometimes they hear my voice. Yet, at any second I could snap their necks. Why don't I tell them to run?

Clint can tell I'm feeling off. He knows me, better than he knows himself. I suppose opposite is also true. I know it is. His soft steps in the grass told me he was coming out here. I knew he would sooner or later. If he'd wanted to remain unheard, he would have. Just like me, he sits down, cross legged in the grass. Not beside me as he often would, but across from me. His eyes assess my hands and he sees me looking at them, so he takes hold of them.

"Tell me." That's all he says.

"They're so ugly." I can't quite look at him.

Clint lifts my hands momentarily. "These?"

I nod.

"Don't say that again."

Now I look him in the eyes.

"I've watched you too many times using these to bathe Wind and hold him, feed him, to just touch him so he knows you love him." He holds my hands a little tighter now. "You protect me, Nat. Maybe you still don't know it, but it's true. Please don't lie like that anymore. These hands are beautiful."

He called it a lie.

He continues. "You promised you'd never lie to me."

That was a promise never spoken, but a real promise no less. He promised the same. Not with words, but with every moment we've spent together.

* * *

Clint

The air's cool out here. I've got D in my arms. Socks, shoes, pants, sweatshirt, hat. He's good. He keeps pulling at my hair. His obsession with pulling hair is new, and I'm not a fan.

Nat's out there in the grass. Something's got under her skin. I don't know why it did, but I know what it is.

"C'mon, bud." I say to my son and hop off the steps and into the grass. I pull his good old squeaky giraffe from my cargo pocket and hand it to him. He loves the thing. It's his best friend.

It's dusk. The sun is gone, but it's still light enough to see. So, I set Wind in the grass to play. He'll be fine. Eating a little grass won't hurt him. ...I know he's gonna try it.

Taking one more glance at my boy, I turn to where Nat is sitting alone.

* * *

So we sit. She's told me what I already knew. I've told her the same. Now, the little terror approaches. His crawling has improved and over the last few minutes he's made his way from the porch over to mom and dad. There were a few delays; grasping at chickens who remain permanently out of reach, putting more grass in his mouth, spitting it out seconds later, etc.

"You're getting good at that, little man." I tell him as he reaches Nat's knee. He hoists himself over her thigh, but can't quite get further. She laughs a little and picks him up. Once he's situated in her lap, Nat wipes the slobbery grass off of his chin and pulls the remaining green blades from his mouth. He doesn't like that and gives her his opinion. She's not phased. She simply wipes the gross grass on my pant leg.

"Thanks." I say unappreciatively.

"That's payment, for letting him eat grass."

"Didn't hurt him."

"Doesn't hurt you either."

I love her.


	10. Birth

_**Here is long over due account of Wind's birth.**_

_**.**_

* * *

A week before Natasha's due date, she and Clint moved back into Stark Tower temporarily. Tony, and the Avengers really, had access to the best doctors and the tower was a safe place. It had been their home and they still considered the others family. This had been the plan all along and, besides, she had been coming to the tower for check ups and the ultrasounds, etc. There was never a chance that Natasha would set foot in a regular hospital or let strangers near her or her baby. That just wasn't going to happen.

There were no signs of labor for that entire week, and it wasn't until well into the next week that the time finally came. The doctors said, and Bruce had confirmed, that waiting was ok. Going a bit beyond her due date was no big deal and there was no need for Natasha to be induced. Besides, she was entirely against being administered drugs of any kind. And Clint had promised her that wouldn't happen. No matter what. During the waiting period, Natasha tried to keep herself occupied. Clint spent a lot of time on the firing range, sparring with Steve, or tormenting Tony. The evenings were regular Avengers down time; Poker, beer, conversations, group dinners. Tony seemed especially happy to have the master assassins back for a spell. Every time he saw Natasha he would nearly trip over himself to assist her with anything and everything. She found it funny, but also annoying. Any complaints she kept to herself though. Stark's generosity needed no thanks, she knew that by now. All he wanted was for it to be accepted, not rejected.

By that point, though, she was used to such behavior. Clint, now that he was among the others was definitely trying to play it cool. However, back at the house, or now whenever the two of them were alone together, he'd slip right back into over-solicitous-husband mode.

Natasha spent time walking the floors of the tower, chatting with Pepper, reading on the roof, and swimming. It felt good to float, especially with how unprecedentedly large she felt... and literally was.

On Thursday morning, roughly 5am, Natasha woke Clint from sleep. They spent the early morning hours playing cards in medical, just waiting, while the others paced around the tower and tried to distract themselves. None of them were above baby excitement. Steve practically turned into a grandma. At least, according to Tony he did. Jarvis was charged with immediately reporting the birth to all inhabitants of Stark Tower. Unbeknownst to Tony, Clint amended this command and told Jarvis not to call them until he or Natasha explicitly said to.

Close to 8 am, while Clint was downing his most recent cup of coffee, Nat's contractions began to come closer and closer together. After that, it was a pretty fast labor. By 9 am a screaming little Barton was being cleaned off while Clint held Natasha's hand, pushing her sweaty hair behind her ears, and telling her she'd done it.

The doctor announced that their baby was a boy.

"He's here, Tasha." He said so only she could hear.

"I hear him." She breathed, a big, tired smile stretching across her face.

Then she met Wind for the very first time.

* * *

It's silent in the room. Tony, Pepper, Steve, Bruce, Thor, the nurses and doctors, and all the rest have gone away. It's just Clint and Nat now. Clint, Nat, and Wind. A family. The lights of New York City twinkle and shine far below, expanding out for a great distance. Here, high above the madness is a peace that two people thought they never deserved.

Natasha has made space in the bed. Clint is sitting beside her now.

"He trusts me." Clint says quietly. The amazement in his voice can't be hidden. He's gazing down into his arms. His baby son is cradled there, against his chest. Wind is awake, wrapped in a blanket. Natasha has just fed him and now it's Dad's turn to hold him again. His little grayish blue eyes stare up at nothing in particular, but he seems to pick up on his dad's low voice.

"You're his father." Nat says, not to discourage Clint's wonder, just to taste the truth on her tongue one more time.

"I know, I just-" Clint doesn't need to finish the thought. She gets it. They both do.


	11. Afternoon

_**Special thank you to reviewers! And thanks to all of you reading this little series of simple moments. I love writing Clint and Nat like this. **_

_**.**_

_**Wind is age 1...**_

* * *

Natasha was working the punching bag in the basement when Clint arrived home. The underground level of their house was one large, well equipped training facility. When he was having the house built, Tony begged them to let him surprise them with at least one thing. He promised nothing ostentatious so Natasha, with a bit of encouraging from Clint, reluctantly agreed. They hadn't known what to expect and were very pleasantly surprised. Natasha spent a lot of time down there. Her skills never dulled. Despite the life she'd chosen, she still considered her skills a part of her and she chose to keep them. That, and the quiet fear that one day she would need to defend what was hers and what she belonged to.

The past three days Clint had been gone, training for SHIELD, so she and Wind had plenty of one on one time. SHIELD hadn't stopped asking her whenever they called Clint in. Fury figured it was worth a shot, but Natasha had no interest. None.

Instead she spent mornings taking her little son into the woods with the dogs. He'd hold onto her fingers tightly as he stumbled, but still stubbornly chose to walk, over logs, rocks, twigs, leaves. She would sit in a tree bough and read, glancing up every so often to make sure he wasn't eating the dirt in which he was digging. Wind came home after each excursion into the forest with a new beloved stick. The little pile of Wind's collected kindling on the porch was Clint's first sign of his family when he returned. After parking their jeep on the gravel by the side of the house, he'd scanned the yard, tree line, and porch, eager as always to see them. It was beside the front door that he stopped and smiled at the obvious evidence of his son.

"Nat, I'm back." He said as he hopped down off the last step into the basement.

The little boy had been playing with some large bouncing balls, that Natasha continuously avoided when they bounced or rolled to her feet. This gym had all dangerous items out of reach and a floor covered with random toys. It was the kind of place neither Clint or Nat could ever have imagined would be a part of their lives.

Wind was getting fussy and Clint arrived just in time.

"Hi." she said, stepping back from the punching bag. "Wind." She said. "Daddy's back."

Wind smiled and then started whining indecipherably as he ran over to Clint who picked him right up and sat down on the steps.

"You look tired." Nat said, coming over to them. She crouched down to his level. They kissed briefly.

"I didn't sleep much while I was there." He said as a yawn escaped him.

"How were the recruits?"

"Some good ones. A lot of dumb ones and one too many who were way to eager for violence."

"Sounds standard."

"It was."

"They'll get weeded out."

"Yeah."

"Well, he's falling apart." She said, motioning to Wind. "So if you want to lay down with him while I finish here, he's ready for a nap."

"Absolutely." He said and stood up. "Come on, Smokestack. Let's go."

Wind simply whined and squirmed irritatedly. He knew the word "nap" and was very much against any activity he'd chosen being interrupted. Regardless of being delirious with fatigue, or the fact that once horizontal he would pass out immediately, Wind hated going to take naps. He made this very clear to his dad.

"I know. Life's reeeally difficult. People putting you to bed and putting your shoes on for you. So tough." Nat heard Clint say as he went up the stairs, whining son in arms. She smirked to herself. At the top of the steps she heard Wind voice his favorite word. "No."

"Yes." Clint intoned, his voice fading down the hall a floor above her.

* * *

An hour later Natasha came upstairs, ready for a shower. As she stepped into the hall she noticed the front door was swinging open.

_Clint._

Stepping under the threshold, she noted Arrow asleep a the bottom of the steps in the grass. She did not, however, see Mars anywhere. He'd usually be wherever Arrow was.

She closed the door on the afternoon sun and headed to the bedroom and, as suspected, there she found Mars. He was laying on their big bed along with Clint and Wind. Clint was curled up on his side and, just inside the crescent his body made, their little boy lay on his back, fast asleep. Sandwiching him next to his dad, was Mars. Very comfortable and not asleep. His droopy eyes rose at her entrance into the room. Natasha was not going to kick him out now. It couldn't be done without at least waking up Clint.

His guilty eye contact broke as she took note of the dirty paw marks on the bed.

"You're disgusting, dog." She whispered matter-of-factly. He wasn't one to disagree.

Her gaze then moved to the two boys asleep atop the bedspread. Clint still had his boots on. One hand was tucked under his pillow and the other rested on his son's stomach. Both of Wind's little hands were resting on his dad's, fingers wrapped around Clint's calloused thumb and index finger.

She loved those two and when she looked at them, oblivious to her, to the entire world, a smile spread across her face. It was in secret that her biggest smiles came, when she stepped back and looked at her life. Those were the moments Clint never saw, but that was ok. To Clint, her small smiles, the ones he always got to see up close, were perfect.


	12. Love

**__****_I've been meaning to write one of Clint's early encounters with a diaper change. lol _**

**__****_So I started writing and this happened... Forgive me._**

**__****_._**

**_Wind is a new born here._**

* * *

Clint chuckled at the expressionless baby. His son lay before him in a nest of blankets on the kitchen table.

"You're so weird." He said as his fingers fought with the diaper tabs.

Wind made a little noise with a small burst of breath, testing the strings of his vocal chords.

"Beautiful." Clint affirmed. "You sound like a little accordion. ...Never could make one sound right. But then they gave me a bow and everybody forgot about my humiliating stint as a band hopeful."

Finally the diaper tabs cooperated with his rough finger tips. "Oh my-, What've you done?" Clint exclaimed as he quickly fumbled for some wipes. "You're completely disgusting." He laughed his words, disgusted by the sight in front of him and deeply amused at this little pink person's ability to do such things.

Wind simply made another sweet accordion noise and then it happened.

* * *

"Tasha, he just peed on me." Clint's half desperate, half amused voice came through the window.

She breathed a sigh. Natasha really didn't care if Clint was swimming in urine at that moment.

Sleep deprivation had come in many forms during her life. Some were innocuous and others she would not recall for anything, but this was something else entirely. She couldn't explain it and it didn't matter. She knew it made Clint weird and it made her fearful. It made them deadly protective and deliriously happy, but it also made Natasha's naps more precious than gold. ...And certainly more important than anything Clint was saying.

Not only did he keep them from rest, their newborn was infinitely more intimidating than any horror or any mission either person had ever faced. Wind, their little baby boy, was utterly helpless, the definition of pathetic. He was the opposite of everything the two of them were, and they would lay down and die for him without question. It made no sense. They'd only just met him. He didn't even do anything. But that didn't matter either. The fact still remained.

"Can he even see?" Clint had asked Nat on their first afternoon in Wind's company.

"Not really." Nat had said.

He was a nearly-blind little dependent, and Natasha would live her whole life over again if it meant he'd be happy. It was insane. Love is completely insane. The one thing that made the least sense made the most sense to her. The Red Room would never recognize her now.

Now laying beneath a blanket on the cushioned bench on their porch, Natasha wanted Clint not to talk to her and just change the diaper. Besides, he was peed on at least twice the day before. Love, what a messy privilege. Right then it was Clint's privilege, so Nat kept her eyes closed.

"Thank you for another update." she voiced in the blankest of tones.

One would never have known this man had fought purple blooded aliens in hand to hand combat with the way he reacted to projectile pee. It was at once horrifying and the coolest thing Clint had ever seen.

"He shot me." Clint marveled in a loud voice through the window again.

"You're ten." She said to nobody.

"I can hear you."

From under the blanket she could not suppress her little smirk.

* * *

**_._**

**_._**

**_ You guys left so many AWESOME reviews last time! I'm so grateful to you all! I REALLY love reading your reactions and feedback! :D_**

**_._**


	13. Fall

_**Thanks again to all readers of this series of little moments and simple lifee.**_

_** :D**_

_**Wind is age 1 & 1/2**_

_**.**_

* * *

On the very edge of the porch stood a bare footed Clint Barton. His torso was bent slightly toward the bright and clear morning sky, his arms taut. The curve of the bow was in his hand, its contour complimenting his perfect posture. As his fingers relaxed on the wire, an arrow shot up into the trees. His eyes alone could see where it hit, and he was pleased.

Late the night before he had returned from another stint training for SHIELD on the carrier. He'd begun very early teaching a one day course for advanced snipers which didn't require him to stay over. Clint knew the class was mostly a formality, a bit of bureaucratic coddling. Long range skill came from endless practice. There was no boot camp and then you were ready. It took years of patiently waiting behind the scope (or in Clint's case, without it). Skills were carefully crafted by time and experience. As a young man, Clint didn't really do anything else. While his relationship with his brother slowly slipped away from him, Clint made a name for himself. Natural talent combined with endless practice created a marksman prodigy. Then, his only family, the only person he could trust, let go of him without a second thought. After that, shooting was all Clint had. He did it out of necessity, to survive, and to fill the massive void inside him. It was his only companion and he got to know it well.

He knew that a day spent in front of a small group of people could never do for their skill what life had done for his.

Briefly Clint had considered taking Wind with him for a visit to the carrier, but he and Nat decided against it. Were Coulson still alive he would have already brought him, but Coulson was gone and he no intention of letting Fury get familiar with his family. (Not over Natasha's dead body. Those were her words not his. At least, they were her implied words.) Familiarity might give Fury the wrong idea. Fury and his schemes were not welcome to their life. He decided and Natasha agreed in the end that they didn't want anybody on the carrier to see their child. He didn't want them to know about their life. He didn't want them to see anything he couldn't afford lose. Even now Clint still feared old grudges, and didn't need his son on the personal radar of anyone in the covert world.

The only people he trusted were Natasha and a small handful living in a skyscraper in New York City. It was for this reason also, that each time he was scheduled to train for SHIELD, Clint made the drive to the city, and at the tower was picked up and flown to the carrier. Fury no doubt knew where he and Natasha lived, but no other agents needed to know or needed to see. Pepper had called it 'maintaining a healthy distance'. She would know a little about that, having spent a 10 year run as a certain person's assistant. In addition to their intense discretion on the matter, Tony Stark had outfitted the property's security. Not only were Natasha and Clint able to monitor their systems and maintain a high level of security on their home if they wished, but any irregularities would immediately alert The Avengers. It was good to have friends. This was another thing that both he and Natasha had taken some years to learn.

Thoughts like this went through his mind as he fired arrow after arrow. This was his element. It had always been his escape, then it was his livelihood. Now, it was another part of his life that brought him happiness.

Nat was out, somewhere about the property, having risen at dawn as she often did. Clint frequently did as well, and the two of them would just spend the silence together drinking coffee before their son rose. They would sit on the porch if it was warm, with a blanket if it was chilly, or in the house on the couch if it was cold. The old days often brought them a ledge or a corner of a room. Back then they'd share coffee, but more often it was just a flask of vodka. But clinging to each other amidst a mad world were days long past.

This morning Clint had slept longer and awoken the same time Wind did. The two boys sat together at the breakfast table wordlessly making faces at each other and laughing as they ate. When they'd finished their food, Clint cleaned his face and hands, dressed him, retrieved his bow and quiver, then set Wind loose outside.

.

One and a half year old Wind went about his business in the grass below where his father stood. He ran from chicken to chicken, dog to dog, chasing them mercilessly and laughing as he did so. Arrow's massive gate allowed him to easily step away from having his hair pulled or being collided with by the small human. Mars was less fortunate. He never made much effort to avoid the child's advances therefore receiving many jabs with sticks, tail pulls, ear pulls, and the warmest of hugs. Mars loved that kid. When he wasn't tormenting his animal friends though, Wind was digging in the dirt, pilling up rocks and sticks, or, standing at the bottom of the steps with the longest stick in his collection. There he would take aim with his pretend bow, imitating his father's stance as best he could. He would do this for minutes at a time, periodically looking back up on the porch behind him. Clint, his eyes still focused forward, would respond to his son's looks.

"The wire tenses." He would say. "Back muscles tighten and lock. Slow your breathing. Exhale. Relax your hand." A perfect shot every time. Then he would look down at his little boy's small form, standing as still as was possible for him, feet apart and his arms outstrected. The long stick would be out in front of him held by both of his hands. Clint would smile. "Good stance, D." Then, Wind would return to his games.

As soon as Wind was old enough, Clint and Natasha would begin teaching him to shoot at least a bow and, of course, he would learn hand to hand. He already showed a lot of physical promise. Among other things, he had been an early walker and climbing out of his crib started happening a lot earlier in his life than was preferred. Fearless and determined, he required a lot of his parent's vigilance. They were constantly pulling him from book shelves, off the porch railing, out of smaller trees he climbed into despite their being no hope of ever getting himself back down again. He wasn't afraid of falling down, though it never agreed with him when it inevitably happened on a daily basis. That said, he would climb anything and try anything to get what he was after. Natasha had caught him on more than occasion in the kitchen, having stacked a stool atop a chair, about to attempt to scale his structure to acquire and prohibited food item. Wind Barton was a full time job in preventative measures.

.

Soon, Natasha was stepping quietly across the grass. She'd been checking on the bees (Being September, there was still time before it would get too cold for them to spare any honey) and tending her garden. In her hand she carried a tin cup from the shed beside the hen house. It was filled with seed for the chickens. Without a word she bent to kiss Wind's head and put the cup in his hands. He eagerly clasped it in his little palms.

With no delicacy of any kind, Wind dumped the cup of seed on the head of the closest chicken to him. Instantly the other four gathered and the five of them, much to Wind's delight, clucked and bobbed, snapping up as much seed as they could as fast as they could.

Natasha smiled imperceptibly at the sight as she sat down on a step. Wind turned to her to tell her excitedly about the chickens eating. "Woah! Woah!" (his number one phrase.) And he laughed. Nat nodded to him. "They're hungry."

"Yeah!" Wind agreed and turned back to watch the chickens.

Clint released another arrow. It imbedded itself in the top most branch of the tallest tree, pinning the smallest of leaves. Later he would go out and gather the arrows. Scanning the now golden trees, climbing, the dogs below him. It made him happy. Wind always came along too. He would strap the boy securely to his back and up into the trees they would go together. When Wind was on his back, Clint accommodated with a hip quiver so his son wouldn't touch the arrows or throw them down to the forest floor.

He took off his quiver and put down the bow, then came down to sit beside his wife.

"Good morning." he said as he offered her a kiss that she accepted without hesitation.

Then, she put her hand in Clint's. His closed around hers.

"Want to spar?" He asked after a brief moment of quiet.

Nat nodded. "I'll change."

.

About 5 feet from where his parents were sparring, Wind planted both his hands in the grass and touched his head to it as well. Not quite able to get his legs into the air, he did his best to repeat what he just saw his mother do to avoid his father's take down.

"Don't look at him." Nat said calmly, as she breathed evenly through every turn and dodge she exchanged with Clint. They matched each other step for step. That is, when Natasha wasn't air born.

"He's imitating you again." Clint said, his breathing equally calm, but his voice held that note of amusement.

"I know. And he'll make you lose again."

There was the sound of soft tumbling into the grass and Clint glanced to Wind who had just rolled onto his back.

In an instant Clint was laying on his own back right beside him. One glance and Nat struck at his weakness. With the greatest ease she undermined his stance and threw him to the ground.

Clint looked up at Nat whose knee was to his chest.

"You're dead." She said simply.

"Wind counts as a handicap." Clint laughed as Natasha settled into a sitting position.

Nat looked over to her son who was pushing himself off the ground. She didn't say it, but Clint of course knew. Natasha loved Wind's attempts to fight like they did. Finally steady on his feet, Wind climbed right over Clint's chest and jumped into Natasha's arms.

"You beat him." She congratulated her son and kissed his soft cheek.

"Daddy!" Wind exclaimed.

"Yes. He lost." Natasha said.

"Don't turn him against me, Nat." Clint complained as he propped himself onto an elbow.

"Say, Daddy lost." she coaxed.

Wind laughed and looked at Clint. "Daddy woah!"

Both Clint and Natasha couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes he did." Nat agreed.


	14. Hope

**.**

**Wind is 1 & 1/2 when this chapter begins, but some time will pass.**

**This one begins shortly after the last chapter. Yay! I made sense for once. ;)**

**Thanks for sticking with this! :D**

**.**

* * *

Nat pulled up in the jeep around 10 am. Through the wind shield she saw Clint leaning on the porch rail waiting for her. She'd driven into town, maybe a twenty five minute drive. It took fifteen minutes if Clint was behind the wheel. Unlike her husband, Nat possessed the patience to drive the speed limit. For a man who could wait hours for a target, or study a conflict from a far up height, he really struggled with a lead foot.

He figured he knew why she'd been up and out without a word, and it was time confirm his suspicions.

"So?" He asked her as she stepped up onto the porch, putting the keys on the railing. She looked out toward the tree line where Wind, accompanied by Mars, was relentlessly hitting sticks on tree trunks. A tiny smile crossed her face.

"So?" She said turning back to Clint. Her face gave nothing away.

"You were puking your guts out yesterday. You never get sick..."

She barely conceded a tiny grin and pulled a box from the plastic bag in her hand.

"Have you taken it?" Clint asked with a mix of excitement and disappointment.

"You know I would wait for you, Clint." She said with a roll of her eyes as she brushed past him and into the house. "Let's find out."

Clint smiled. Of course she'd waited for him. While Natasha was in the bathroom, he remained outside on the porch pacing and taking glances at Wind to make sure he wasn't running off into the woods or doing something dangerous. The feeling of anticipation was so great that he began bouncing on his toes.

When she finally came back out she said nothing and handed the test to Clint. He took it eagerly and examined the answer.

"Positive!" It fell from his hands as he embraced Natasha. She couldn't hold back a little laugh, but the smile quickly faded from her face. She rested her head against his chest while he pressed his face into her hair.

"It'll be ok, Tash. No matter what."

"I don't want to lose another one."

"I know."

She just took a deep breath and tried to hope.

.

Natasha felt, and was beginning to believe, that her Red Room conditioning had finally caught up to her new life. It was now April. Wind had just turned two in March. Since September Natasha had suffered two miscarriages. True to form, she faced them boldly. At that point, figuring Wind might have been their one chance for children, she and Clint wanted to be grateful for their son. They tried their hardest not to focus on the loss. Still, it broke Natasha's heart and it broke Clint's. They had seen rough winters together before. This was the hardest. The old thoughts of being nothing but black inside, a place for life to die, returned to Natasha's mind. She fought them. She held her son, laughed with him, tried to see what she had.

The second time had most certainly been more devastating for both parents, though each loss hurt them intensely. After the first baby didn't make it, Nat spent more time that usual just watching Wind play and holding him in his quiet moments. Clint had returned from a week stuck on the helicarrier only to be greeted by Natasha's subdued fears. She was cramping. He tried to assure her, but he felt the same fear she did. By the time the next morning dawned, her pregnancy was officially over. For nearly a week she didn't want to talk to Clint, didn't want to spar, or sit in silence with him, and it burned him. He knew she felt ashamed and that was the worst part. There was nothing for her to be ashamed of. So they spent one too many days speaking sparsely. He needed her, and giving her the space she required was torture for him, but soon enough Nat came back to his arms and they grieved together.

It was the night Clint finally cried, a little after losing the second baby, that she really broke inside. He'd been resolved to stay strong for her, but he failed. No tears escaped her eyes but, his pain, while it held no accusation, no disappointment toward her, brought her so low. She, like him, also wanted more crying, laughing, fierce little people her life. She wanted to teach them and love them like she did Wind. She wanted to see more soft little hands clasped in Clint's rough, calloused fingers. She wanted again to know that her body was good for something other than ending things. Beginnings were what she lived for now.

The following morning the pair were quiet, each of them speaking more to Wind than to each other. After breakfast Clint bundled up his son and they went tramping into the snow covered woods with the dogs while Nat attacked a punching bag downstairs. Later she put Wind down for a nap while Clint fired arrows into faraway targets he had fixed into the bare trees. His nearly frozen fingers continued to stubbornly pull back on the wire over and over again. When she came outside, wrapped in her big black coat, he was waiting for her.

"I'm sorry." He said, perched on the porch rail, boots hanging below him, hands now dug into the pockets of his own coat.

"No. I am." The cold air revealed her breath as she spoke.

"You're not allowed to be sorry." Clint said.

"Don't tell me what I can be." Her tone threatened, but Clint had never been afraid of her.

"I just did."

"Shut up, Barton." And with that she walked back into the house. He immediately hopped down from his seat and followed her.

"Talk to me, Nat."

"What would you like to hear?" She said with a sharp edge in her voice as she pulled off her coat.

He took her arm and turned her back toward him. She pushed him away, but he came right back. She knew him well enough to bother with shoving him away again. He stuck with her. Always.

"Can you forgive me?" He asked her.

"For what?" The edge in her voice suddenly softened.

His face looked confused. "...For last night."

"For being sad? You're kidding?"

"No. I made you think it was your fault."

"It is my fault. You're feelings don't affect that."

"Dammit, Natasha!"

"No. You listen. I know what they made me. When you were running around with your big brother, I was snapping necks. Don't you see. It's never going to go away, Clint. Never!" Then she fell silent.

"That's their fault." He nearly whispered.

"_My_ body won't let a child grow." She said, bravely holding eye contact. "It's _my_ fault."

"You never asked for that. ...And you still don't know Wind was our one shot."

"I don't care." She said turning away from him in frustration. "Your head's thick, Clint! I don't want to discuss it."

"Pretending you're responsible doesn't make it better." He said to the back of her red head.

She turned and came at him suddenly. He was ready for her. Clint caught both her fists in his hands and held them tightly. The storm in his eyes absorbed the fire coming from her green stare. She didn't resist, didn't strike with her legs or her head, but instead fell against him. Her fists dropped from his hands as she let him put his arms around her.

"I know it hurts." That's all he could say. That's all there was.

.

So this was the third time since Wind that Natasha and Clint were expecting a baby. They were hoping so hard that this one would make it. When the first trimester had passed, Natasha still didn't let herself hope. Not until she entered her 8th month of pregnancy did she finally let herself consider this child to be a done deal. Needless to say this made the other 7 months something of a strain, a collective holding of breath.

One night, while both were still awake, Natasha spoke quietly into the moonlit room.

"Clint, they never took it away." she said quietly. "I let myself believe they took it from me."

"I know, Tasha." He said. Clint lay on his side, just watching her speak as she lay on her back.

"It was easy with Wind, to take everything as it came, but he made me see what it's like. I want it so much."

Clint's fingers found her palm and they wrapped themselves around it. He knew.

In the glow that filled the room, a tiny glint from her necklace caught Clint's eye. It never failed to make him smile that she still wore that all the time.

"You and I will always have a full quiver." He said as he reached out to run his fingers over the little golden arrow.

"Really? Metaphors?" Her dry tone was unmistakable.

"I liked it." He said with a grin in the glow. The moonlight revealed her little smirk as well. Then he watched as it faded, though the contentment remained.

"Thank you." She said sincerely.

"For what?" He asked.

"Believing when I can't."

"Your welcome." Clint said softly. "Thank you for keeping me afloat."

"I love you." It was that simple.

Clint's hand came to rest atop her very rounded stomach and soon they were both asleep.

* * *

.

.

.

_** And now, for clarification, Wind is over 2 & 1/2 years old. Barton Baby #2 in on the way! Can you dig it?**_


	15. Night

_**I've been working on the next chapter, but it's father's day! So I wrote some Daddy fluff to hold us over. :D**_

**_._**

**_This, like the end of the last chapter, takes place in Nat's 8th month of #2 pregnancy._**

**_._**

**_._**

* * *

Two year old Wind was asleep. Natasha, eight months pregnant, was asleep. The dogs were asleep outside, huddled under the porch. There was no moon that night and the snow was still falling quietly. It was the middle of the night and Clint had awoken by chance. For a little while he lay there, just listening to Tasha's breathing and resting his hand on her stomach. His other child was just beneath his palm, and still a mystery to him.

Sleep did not return to him, but he felt so peaceful that it made no difference. However, laying there with most of his family beside him made Clint miss his little boy, so he got up. The room was warm, but not too warm. Still, it didn't change the feel of the cold wood floor under his bare feet. He moved across the room in silence so as not to wake Natasha and slipped out the door.

It was not as dark in the hallway. The light from the bathroom remained lit behind a cracked door. They did this for Wind's sake. After gaining confidence on his feet, it didn't take long for him to manage hauling himself over the side of his crib. Once that was mastered, his first destination had been his parent's room. Waking up to their son crying in the dark hallway because he couldn't find his mom and dad's room was not an experience they wanted to repeat. He didn't get out of bed most nights but, in case he did, the way was lit.

The silence in their quiet home was itself muffled by the snow outside. Silence upon silence. This winter had begun so much sweeter than the last, and Clint felt the silence like safe place. Not like last year when the snow-made silence deafened him and suffocated Natasha.

The door to his son's bedroom was open just a little. Clint pushed it the rest of the way and stepped inside. The faint light from the hall made the room dim enough to see in. He went quietly up to the crib and looked down at his boy. Clint bent over against the side rail and rested his cheek against his forearm. With his other hand he reached down to Wind and pushed some of his red hair off his forehead. The kid needed a haircut. Natasha didn't think so though. She liked his hair a little longer and, besides, his last haircut hadn't been a fun endeavor for anyone.

Wind didn't move, but sighed in his sleep. Clint smiled.

He always thought he was happy when he just had Nat, but now he couldn't imagine being happy without Nat _and_ Wind. Soon it would be Nat and Wind_ and_ a baby, if it wasn't already that way.

Wind's birth had scared him to death. Natasha had spilled her fears and he had spilled his, but when she had a child in her arms, or under her heart, she was living the proof that her fears were lies. Clint's fears were not cured by physical realities so much as caused by them. Holding Wind in his arms did not kill his thoughts about hurting him, about failing his son. Despite this, when he held him, Clint knew he loved Wind and every moment he spent with him was something he could never have hoped for.

His doubts followed him through Natasha's first pregnancy, though they were shattered with the grip of Wind's tiny hand around his finger. They followed him through the nights where only Natasha could sooth their son, but were overwhelmed the next day as Clint lay on the couch with his baby boy asleep on his chest. Wind's small form rising and falling with each of his father's breaths was a marvel to Clint. Those moments were beautiful. They couldn't have been more perfect, but the trust his son had in him was was scared him. Wind didn't know who his dad was and Clint was afraid he would find out.

Those thoughts had certainly dwindled since those early days of fatherhood. Or, maybe they never dwindled. Maybe everything else just got stronger, bigger, brighter. Clint knew who he was, and that wasn't his foster-father, or a dead man, or a monster.

"I never knew I wanted to be a father." he whispered to the sleeping boy. "I can barely remember my dad, and the next guy was a nightmare..." Clint paused, silently running his fingers through the threads of red hair above Wind's forehead. "But it's... a privilege."

He smiled. "_You're_ a privilege."


	16. Close

_**This one starts where the last chapter left off! **_

_**...And there was much rejoicing.**_

_**Thank you so much to everybody reading and special thanks for reviews! I appreciate them so much!**_

_** :D**_

**_Wind is still 2 & 1/2 and we're still i_****_n Natasha's last 2 months of pregnancy._**

**_._**

**_._**

* * *

.

With the confidence that this baby was indeed coming, came a desire to know the sex. The due date was so near that any fear of losing this baby was gone. And, after everything that had happened, Natasha was ready to be rid of any excess uncertainty. Clint felt similarly and was happy to find out.

Nat contacted Jarvis who made an appointment with one of the doctors that Tony had on staff.

They had planned to find out if the baby was a boy or girl back when they'd gone to the tower for Natasha's 5 month check up. At that time Natasha insisted against anything fancy and did not want to use anything out of the ordinary. She wanted just a regular, normal ultrasound. She didn't want to take any chances, even if they weren't really chances. No 3D, no advanced Stark tech, just normal. Although they had chosen to be surprised with Wind, they had let themselves have all kinds of fun with 3D images and trying to decide who the baby looked like. But, after the trauma of the last two pregnancies, they were overly cautious and afraid of getting too attached to their unborn child. Clint forced down the pain of that decision while Natasha just tried to accept it as necessary.

She also refused to let anybody besides Bruce preform the ultrasound that time, as if having a friend do it made it safer. Nobody questioned her. Clint confided to Bruce about the miscarriages and so he agreed.

"Ok." Bruce had said. "I got it. Are you sure you want to know?"

Clint looked at Nat. She looked at him.

"No." She said unexpectedly.

"Really?" Clint asked.

"I want to wait." She said.

And so they did, and Bruce kept the knowledge to himself.

.

The drive to NYC felt longer than usual. That probably had to do with the fact Wind cried and whined most of the way. Being restrained was not something he was used to, nor did he like it. To make up for this cruelty, his parents let him loose for Steve to chase around as soon as they arrived.

An entire floor of the the tower was a small hospital and it even included a lab or two for Bruce to play with.

Banner met them when they arrived on the medical floor. Clint had invited Bruce to join them and he did. After all, he already knew the answer and, since not too long after Loki's visit to earth, Clint considered Bruce a good friend.

As Natasha lay there waiting for an answer, the doctor worked quietly. Clint sensed her calm and was happy for it, but held her hand anyway. It made him feel better.

"Ok." The doctor said. "Ready to find out?"

They nodded in unison. Bruce chuckled slightly at this. It was such a different response when he had been the one asking that question.

"Ok. Look right there." The doctor said pointing at the screen. "You're having a boy."

Natasha simply laughed while Clint's eyes lit into a smile. He leaned over to kiss her lips. She kissed him back. Public display of affection was not their usual thing, but they were too happy in that moment to stay away from each other.

"I knew it!" Bruce exclaimed suddenly from his corner of the room.

It was a lame joke, but it made Clint laugh.

.

Both Clint and Natasha's first instinct was to retreat back to their home and celebrate the news in the intimacy of their little family. Tony, especially, tried to get them to stick around, have dinner, spend the night, but they declined. Besides, Clint reminded him, they would be back soon enough to stay for a little while.

By late afternoon, they had arrived home. When they got out of the car Natasha directed Wind's hands into a pair of mittens while Clint held him in place. They popped a hat on his head, he was handed a banana that would probably end up all over his face, then set free in the brown, wet grass. The last few days had climbed a little in temperature, and first snowfall had only just melted.

Natasha set herself on the porch steps while Clint went inside the house. Arrow and Mars emerged from beneath the porch to greet their returning masters. Arrow in his usual fashion gave a sniff to Natasha and sat down calmly near by. Mars, on the other hand, forced his slobbery snout onto her lap before she could stop him. Most times she pushed his face away before he had the chance, but she was understandably distracted that particular day. The dog then trotted over to see what Wind was up to.

Nat watched her son run around as if he were just emancipated from years of confinement. She spoke small words to him that required no response, but he talked to her anyway. Some of it she understood, some she did not. Clint soon returned to the porch and came down to sit with her. He handed her a lime popsicle (her one random pregnancy craving that not even winter could discourage), and opened a can of beer for himself. It was never too cold for beer either.

"Thanks." She said comfortably. Clint briefly tapped his forehead to her shoulder, then leaned in to kiss her cheek. She wrapped his hand in hers, but only after first unwrapping the popsicle. They sat there hand in land, leaning on each other and watching Wind rid himself of excess energy. After Clint's beer was finished and Natasha had placed a bare wooden stick on the porch beside her, they remained there a while until it seemed Wind was thoroughly tired out. That's when Clint rose from his seat and collected his son. Lifting him into his arms, he carried him over to Natasha.

"Give Mommy a kiss goodnight." Clint said holding him so he could reach his mom. Natasha kissed him and he gave her an exaggerated smooch of his own.

"Goodnight." She said softly to him.

"Night, Mama!"

Clint took him inside to give him a warm bath and de-mud him. Nat, who remained outside for a while longer, could soon hear Wind's laughter and their muffled bath time conversation.

When she went in a little later to put the kettle on, she could hear their muffled bed time conversation down the hall. The sun was gone from the windows and the house again took on that familiar, enclosed feeling. The cold night all around the warm home felt safe and comfortable.

Clint arrived in the kitchen around the same time the kettle began to whistle. He went and sat down on the floor, back against the couch, knees bent up against his chest, but relaxed all the same. He watched Natasha's delicate, purposeful motions as she prepared two cups of hot tea. One the way she liked, and the other the way he liked.

Wordlessly she came over to where he was, handed him _his_ mug (Stark's obnoxious "Genius" mug that he'd lost to Clint in a bet), and situated herself on the couch. She sat, leaning against the arm. With one hand she held her mug, while with the other she began to brush her fingers through Clint's hair.

Clint leaned his head back, resting it on the couch to look up at her. He smiled with his eyes.

"He's gonna need a name."

Natasha just nodded.

"It can wait." she said, her face still wearing that contented expression.

"It can." Clint agreed.

He closed his eyes, and just enjoyed the feel of his hair being rhythmically brushed from his forehead.

.

Due to the seven months of worry, neither Natasha nor Clint ever really mentioned the baby or being a big brother to Wind. It was just too difficult. Everything felt so fragile. So, 8 months along, with the knowledge of a second son, and no more room for Wind on Natasha's lap, they started talking about it to him.

Wind quickly came to understood that there was "a baby" in Natasha's tummy (a very foreign concept), and that he should be excited about being a "big brother" (That didn't mean a whole lot either, but he'd sure be excited for it.). Mommy's big tummy meant baby and baby was a good thing. There was no way he could understand what this all would mean until the baby actually came, or how it would affect his life. Regardless, Clint and Natasha had a lot of fun in the last two months of pregnancy "preparing him" for the baby's arrival.

.

The morning after learning they were having another boy, Clint and Natasha stayed in bed when they would have normally risen. Wind hauled himself out of his crib as early as usual and they spent the morning enduring him climbing over them and bouncing all over their bed. Clint was eager to get Wind as excited as possible for a new brother.

"He's not going to understand, Clint." Nat said to him as he was trying to get Wind to say the words "baby brother".

"So? ...D, you're gonna be a big brother to a baby brother!"

Wind laughed and said "A Baby Buddo"

"Good boy! ...Think he'll be J.E.A.L.O.U.S.?" Clint asked Natasha.

Natasha laughed. "He doesn't know what jealous means. You don't have to spell it."

"He'll figure it out retrospectively."

"Then spell away." She conceded.

"I just did. Do you think so?" Clint then caught Wind in mid air before he could land on him painfully. Wind laughed as usual.

Natasha shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."

"You're so helpful." Clint rolled his eyes.

Natasha thought of Clint and his brother, Barney. Maybe Clint would remember talk of Barney being jealous of him when he was born. However, Barney's harmless jealousy over a baby couldn't compare to the jealousy that eventually allowed him to pull away from his baby brother and eventually cruelly turn on him. No, Natasha wouldn't ask.

She did however ask Wind.

"Will you be jealous of your baby brother?"

Wind looked at her, then looked at Clint. Then he nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah! I be dellous!"

"There's your answer." She said.

"Wind. You're a goof." Clint said to his son and picked him up.

"Daddy, you goof!"

Nat nodded in agreement as she leaned over to kiss his cheek.

.

.

With Natasha pregnant there was no sparring, so Clint did the next best thing; he "sparred" with his son. This consisted of Clint on his knees on the mat in their basement gym, while Wind ran around laughing uncontrollably. Clint reached out and grabbed his arms, legs, t- shirt, whatever he could grab, and each time he caught him Wind would be "tickled to death". Stakes were raised when Clint got off his knees and simply chased him around. This activity had already been a common occurrence. The only difference warranting the title was that it now took place in the gym. Hence "sparring". Or, as Wind called it, "Powing".

They were downstairs doing this when Natasha descended the steps. She was tired so she sat on the bottom step. It had never been like her to admit fatigue, but with Clint she would admit most things and, she wasn't normally pregnant.

"D, where's the baby?" Clint would ask whenever Natasha was sitting down, and this occasion was no exception. He couldn't really get enough of watching what his son would do.

Wind always ran over to Natasha and rested his ear against her stomach.

"Aw that's so nice." Clint said, laying it on thick because Natasha would roll her eyes and give him grief for being such a sap.

"Can you give the baby a kiss?"

Wind turned and kissed Nat's stomach this time. She couldn't help but laugh because she loved that, so he did it again. Then, without anyone's prompting Wind looked at her stomach again and said "Hi baby."

To cover the fact that this nearly made her melt, Natasha addressed her husband. "You're turning him into a circus monkey. He'll do anything for an audience."

"What do you think I was?"

"Not because of your charm."

"Hey. The ladies loved me." Clint corrected.

"The 12 year olds?"

"Yes."

"Congratulations."

Clint ignored her good natured sarcasm. "...Wind, tell mommy how pretty she is."

"Mama, Putty!"

Natasha scooped him up and whispered in his ear. Immediately he ran back over to his dad and jumped up and down cheering "Daddy so putty!"

Clint instantly snatched him up and began mercilessly tickling him again. Wind squealed with laughter as Clint said "Daddy's so _handsome_." Then he paused to look at Wind's face. Wind looked up at him, red faced and smiling. "Daddy so handom!"

"Good boy!" Clint laughed. He put Wind on the floor and just as the boy began to walk away, Clint snatched him up for another round of tickling. Wind dissolved into helpless laughter again.

.

.

Clint had put Wind to bed a couple of hours ago and now he was sitting on the couch. Natasha lay across it, her head in his lap and her eyes closed. Clint smiled at the contented expression on her restful face.

"Wow." He said. "He's having a party in there right now." Clint's hand was moving around Nat's stomach as he felt the infant kick. Natasha's hands joined his. They may have missed out on many pleasant moments of pregnancy for too long, but they were making up for it now. "He's another ball of energy."

"He moves twice as much as Wind did." she corrected, eyes still closed. "I've never been kicked so many times in my life."

"Well," Clint shrugged. "Wind can chase this guy around for us."

"True." Natasha said. "I let Wind feel yesterday. You should've seen him. He couldn't stop laughing every time he felt a kick."

"He laughs about everything."

Natasha just smiled.

**.**

**.**

Natasha awoke shivering and sat up quickly. Clint was right there, rubbing her arms, saying her name.

"Take it away."

"It's gone, Tasha. It's gone."

Leaning in, she gripped his biceps, holding onto him to ground herself in reality. "Fire took us. Then _they_ took him!" She breathed.

Clint closed his eyes. Nat's dream had given her harrowing non-childhood to Wind.

"No, Nat. He's down the hall. There's no fire. We're here. You're gone from any file. Nobody knows about our life. Nobody will come for him. They'll never take him."

Natasha shivering faded quickly, but she kept her head tucked under Clint's chin.

"We're safe." Yet, even as he said it he know he could never guarantee it. They both knew that. But, compared to their life before, and compared to what it could have been, it was true. And they would do their best to keep it that way. That was enough, and they could live with enough. The pair of them could make up the difference if it ever came to it. Besides, the amount of Stark tech guarding their lives was a continuous comfort.

None of that, however, mattered in the face of a nightmare. Clint knew that well. In his own dreams Loki had taken Wind from him, Barney had taken Wind from him, and he had murdered his little boy with his own hands. So, he knew.

In other dreams, Natasha had seem her whole family destroyed. She'd seen the hulk take everything she had and crush it in his grasp. She'd watched helplessly as the life she knew was overcome by those who once hired her, once owned her.

They both knew that speaking the truth held no sway over what those terrors did them. The truth had to be made real again. They had to hold it in their hands and get a good look at it. Then, and only then could they rest easy once more.

Natasha got out of bed and left their room. Clint watched. He knew what she needed to do. Moments later she returned with a sleeping 2 year old in her arms. She lay him down between herself and her husband. Wind protested lightly at the disturbance, but settled again almost instantly. Clint fitted Wind's small hand into his palm while his opposite hand reached to spread out over his other son's hiding place. Natasha's hand covered his there. Her gentle fingers that stroked the threads of Wind's hair eventually grew still as peace once again descended on their home. They fell asleep holding what was real.


	17. Proof

_I know with this little series of moments I tend to try different things. I just wanted to clarify, just in case it seems to make no sense, that this one is a little progression. _

**_I hope you enjoy._**

**_Huge thanks to everybody reading this!_**

**_._**

_And thank you __Ani-maniac494 for giving this a once over and for your suggestions!_

**_._**

**_._**

* * *

Very few women can say that they enjoy pregnancy physically, though most can say that enjoy it intellectually or emotionally. They understand it's beauty, appreciate it's significance, or they feel the excitement it brings. They get it. That does not, however, make it a fun physical experience all the time.

Natasha Barton can say that she enjoys it for all those reasons, but can also go a bit further. She can say honestly that she enjoys the physical experience of being pregnant. She finds a delight in the discomfort and experiences a feeling of happiness from being sick. Of course, like with any other woman, these things make her feel miserable and she just wants to go to bed, but she's still happy. She's human. She's a mother, and can literally be a home for a baby. Natasha doesn't mind the back pain or getting kicked in the bladder. This isn't because she enjoys pain. No. What she enjoys is knowing that she can give her life for a life. She can _feel _the red being wiped from her ledger. Every ache and pain reminds her, and she likes to be reminded. It was when she became pregnant with Wind that this became clear. Never one to fear discomfort or pain, she still had not been looking forward to it. But, what she then experienced was nine whole months of being reminded of something good.

Sure, she can get moody, and Clint tries his best to navigate Natasha's odd moods and oft changing needs. It's tricky because before this, Clint had only ever known Natasha to be emotionally steady on a near super human level. Granted, Natasha's "moody" is quite different from the average pregnant woman's "moody". Still, even this time around with a beginning that was filled with fear and worry, she is brighter in a singular way while pregnant. It's an amazing dichotomy of struggle and joy. Just another level of her mystery that Clint has been able to discover and it's only made him love her more. ...Except those moments where she's threatened to kill him.

Natasha knows she's a real, live, human woman. They never took that from her. Every bit of discomfort tells her this. It tells her what she still gets to be despite their efforts to make her a machine. She's not.

The contractions she feels right now prove it. So does each painful breath. Clint's hand clutching hers tightly proves it. A new screaming baby proves it. Blood proves it. Tears prove it. A kiss on her forehead proves it. A baby in her arms that calms immediately at _her_ voice, though she's never met him before, proves it.

The little two year old who can barely pronounce the words "baby brother" proves it.

The man beside her bed holding the infant cradled in one taut arm proves it. The little boy in his other arm whose hands clasp his dad's neck as he's introduced to his little brother for the first time, proves it.

This tiny human, totally dependent on _her,_ proves it. Clint calling him Isaac because it's what she wanted proves it.

Isaac in her arms, and her husband and son leaning in close to see him proves it.


	18. Memory

Beside Natasha's bed, Clint stood with their new little son cradled in his arms. He seemed unable to take his eyes off the brand new child.

Outside in the halls Steve kept the baby's big brother occupied. The sound of Wind's shouts and laughter would fill the room each time he ran past the door. This would be immediately followed by Steve's footfalls as he chased after the boy.

"Barton boy number two." Clint said to nobody in particular as he swayed with the bald bundle in his arms. Natasha just smiled from the bed.

"So what did you two name this one? Snowflake?" Tony asked from his seat against the wall.

"No." Natasha said, leveling a glare at Stark. "We've named him Anthony Edward."

Almost as fast as Tony's eyes began to light up, his face took on a glare as well.

Clint stepped in. "This is Isaac."

"Isaac?" Tony said skeptically.

Bruce, who was also in the room, gauging the look on Natasha's face, took Tony by the arm. "Come on. We'll get details later."

Tony got up, following Bruce's lead, and the two men left the couple in peace.

The details, however, never came. He was Isaac and that's all Clint or Natasha had to say about it.

.

A name for their second child had not been chosen until almost a week before Natasha gave birth. After finally letting themselves be excited about the pregnancy, the couple took some time to see what inspiration might come. That method failed. The times they tried to think up a good name especially didn't work.

"Tasha, we've really gotta name this kid." Clint told her one night as he stood at the sink washing the last of their dinner dishes. Wind had a nasty little cold and had gone to sleep early. Natasha was now stretched across the couch with her eyes closed.

"Sometimes I think it'll come to me once I see him."

"Don't you want to have a name ready?"

"Yes."

"We've barely talked about it."

"Let's talk now." She said plainly.

"Alright." Clint dried his hands on a towel, then came and sat down on the floor beside her. "Do you want to stick with the Captain Planet thing?"

Although unfamiliar with Captain Planet, Natasha had heard it referenced at least once during their super hero days.

"Wind was your idea." She said.

"I know... And I stand by it, but still... it's still a bit Captain Planety. I can admit it."

Natasha looked incredulously at him for a moment.

"Stark?"

Clint smiled sheepishly. "You think I came up with that?"

"No, I did not." Natasha smirked. "...I'm fine with choosing a name like that again, but I'm not attached."

"Ok." Clint said. As his face took on a more thoughtful expression he began to weave his fingers absentmindedly through hers.

After some moments of silence passed, Natasha spoke.

"I've got nothing."

"Neither do I." Clint said. "At least nothing I like."

Natasha decided to go the pragmatic route and just started listing names whether she liked them or not.

"Tony." She said after only a few names, just to be sure Clint was listening.

"Hell no." Clint stated flatly.

She then listed a plethora of russian names that neither she nor Clint cared for. Clint felt around for some good strong sounding english names, but nothing stuck. After venturing as far as they could into spanish, hungarian, and french they came up empty.

"Arrow?" Natasha said. Her eyes were scanning the ceiling and her expression was one of true contentment.

"Dog's name." Clint reminded.

"Right. ...Leaf?"

Clint burst out laughing at the sheer lack of effort. She smiled at his laughter, but said nothing.

"What about Francis?" She then suggested.

"One Francis in this family is enough I think."

Natasha laughed lightly. She opened her mouth as if to speak then closed it. "Nope." She said. "Nothing."

Clint just laughed. "Same. This is getting pathetic."

Natasha's smile soon faded into a thoughtful expression. After a little while she spoke. "Are we capable of loving this one as much as Wind?"

Clint's fingers stopped moving and held hers in a gentle grasp.

"Capable?"

He did not supply an answer, but instead got to his knees. He leaned in to rest his head against her stomach.

"I never knew I was capable of anything good, and now it's all I've got. ...I told you I never learned how to love, but you taught me. Wind taught me, and I know this little guy will teach me all over again."

"...And me?" She asked so openly.

"Like I said, you taught me... Natasha you've already given him your life. You're capable."

She smiled.

.

Clint stepped into the warm house and began to stamp the snow from his boots.

"Isaac." Natasha said.

"Isaac?" He asked as he moved to put newly collected eggs in the fridge.

"For him." She said placing her hands on her very round belly. Natasha was seated at the kitchen table. She'd been reading since Wind had gone down for a nap. An hour before, Clint had left Wind and his wife sitting together in the big chair by the window. She was telling him a story before he had to go to sleep. Clint went out to do chores that Nat normally preferred to do.

He gave a nod as he unzipped his coat. "I like the sound of it, but why Isaac?" He asked, placing his gloves down and shaking snow out of his hair.

"Something my mother said." was all Natasha said.

Immediately, and without a word, Clint came, pulled a chair over to her, and sat down. He took her hands in his.

"She told me it was a name full of laughter." Nat continued.

"You remember her?"

"I can't remember what she looked like, but I remember that she smiled at me." Natasha said quietly.

"Tell me?" Clint asked.

Natasha looked down at her hands where he held them. "I remember a moment when I was with her. I can see a small cross around her neck. Still, I can't see her face."

Natasha closed her eyes as if trying to pry up a memory that wasn't there. It was no use and she opened her eyes again. "She was telling me the story of Abraham and Sarah."

"Who?"

"Abraham. You know."

Clint shook his head.

"From the Bible. Old Testament..." She said, assuming that would clear up his confusion, but it didn't seem to be ringing any bells in his brain.

"Judaism, from the Torah... Big deal in Islam."

This gained no response from Clint other than a sheepish grin. He would've made some snarky comment like "_alcoholic dad, orphanage, circus... not much bible training or world religions."_, but he wanted to hear what she had to say and kept silent.

"Never mind." Natasha said. "Anyway, in short, Sarah was old and had never been able to have children, but God promised Abraham that he would have countless descendants. Sarah overheard angels tell Abraham that she would have a son. It made her laugh. Their son was called Isaac."

Natasha paused thoughtfully. "My mother must have been Russian Orthodox." She smiled to herself just barely. "I like knowing _something_. Anything. I don't care how small it is."

Clint smiled.

Besides the one russian lullabye that clung to her memory, Natasha knew nothing of her life before the Red Room. All that she had of it, contained in that simple little song, she gave to Wind. Now she had another piece to give to their new son, to their family.

"How did you remember?" Clint asked.

.

That day was cold and snow was falling. After Clint had gone outside, she sat by the window watching the snow come down with Wind on her lap. She told him stories. Natasha didn't know common fairy tales. The stories she knew were her experiences. She made them good. She filled them with hope and happy endings. Natasha supposed that wasn't dishonest as she looked at her happy ending, her hopeful renewal, who listened as best he could. In these stories, the dark always lost to the light, love conquered, people were never left alone. Only a handful of years before she would never have believed her own words, but now she meant them because she'd lived them. She told him how fighters came out of the dark. And that too was true. She had. Clint had. Tony had. Bruce had. Steve certainly had, and even Thor, in his own way.

The fairy tales she had for her son were tales of The Avengers, good green monsters and flying men. She spoke to him of friendship and trust, power in unity, and never giving up. Wind couldn't fully understand, but none the less absorbed lessons of team work and struggle.

It happened in that moment when she spoke in the quiet, watching the snowflakes through the window. She looked down at her son and all at once her mind filled with memory. Snow, love, her mother's words, a story, and a smile. When she looked at Wind she saw herself, once sitting on her mother's knee, watching snow and listening quietly. Any memory of her mother had been out of her reach all her life. There were times she had tried to reach for them, but those times always ended in fire. So she gave up. Wind gave her a memory. Her heart immediately climbed into her throat as she realized what had happened. Without another thought she pulled Wind tightly to herself and kissed him.

"No, Mommy. Story!" he complained.

"Sorry, little one." She said, taking a breath and smiling. Then she continued.

* * *

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_**If you're interested...**_

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Note about Isaac:

**_I always hold to the idea that Natasha would be unable to have children due to her upbringing with The Red Room. In my mind it makes total sense, though I think it's way too awful. Obviously I couldn't have written this story if that were the case, so I've been operating in an alternate universe where I don't actually think that. lol ...Anyway, h_****_ence the little nod to Sarah, a barren women blessed with a son. I just think Isaac is the coolest sounding name and totally fit because it means "he laughs" or "he will laugh". How awesome is that?! I first chose the name for that reason, then the story for it just came along naturally. I thought that was cool._**

Note about Clint's origins which might not matter to you all:

**_I realize that in previous chapters of this story, I've made very brief mention of Clint's childhood before he joined the circus. You may notice that those mentions don't match up with the one in this chapter. That is because I messed up Clint's origins. Instead of Clint's father being an abusive alcoholic, killing himself and his wife in a drunken car crash, then the boys running away from their orphanage to the circus, I've been operating as though Clint's parent's died in a regular car accident, then Clint and his brother running away from an abusive, alcoholic foster father. For that I apologize. I hope you can look past it. It makes no difference to the trauma/transience Clint faced as a kid. The affects in his life remain unchanged. Just know that from now on in this story I won't be confused about that small detail of Clint's childhood if/when I mention them._**

**_Thanks again, readers!_**

**_:D_**


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